For whom doth that solemn bell toll,
At hour late, when the barmaid's eyes do roll.
One more pint; I'll get it down quick,
Anything to forget that his mouth is framed by sick.
The landlord calls time on drinks and throws out,
He'll be back, without a doubt.
The child inside screams out:
This parting is such sweet sorrow,
He instead opts for "see you tomorrow".
Life becomes numb;
Stouts, draughts, ales and ciders,
They help a while but ask questions that open wounds wider.
Eyelids flutter, seeing peaceful dreams: no red,
as he drifts away, thoughts of bed in his head.
The car did lose control,
Crashing betwixt the fringing wood and open knoll.
He lies poised to ponder of days far fonder,
Back before half his body was found far over yonder.
His life force drains,
Everything is getting darker.
Cold sets in – death approaches with great ardour,
The car continued rolling, but in that second death did let him know;
It was your moribund, pacified, booze stained, tainted soul -
For what, not whom that solemn bell did toll.
YOU ARE READING
Every Trick In The Book
PuisiThis anthology of mostly narrative poems mostly revolves around real people's stories. People's real stories of war and peace, of love and heartbreak, of alcoholism and loss; they have been immortalized in this anthology.
